


Aziraphale Fell's Diary

by DustInTheLight



Category: Bridget Jones (Movies), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abusive Platonic Relationship, Aziraphale keeps a diary, Book Keeper Aziraphale, Bridget Jones AU, Editor Aziraphale, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Happy Ending, Human AU, Humour, Lawyer Crowley, M/M, Manipulative Platonic Relationship, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Pining, Rom-Com AU, Rom-com, Romance, bridget jones's diary - Freeform, rewrite of a movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustInTheLight/pseuds/DustInTheLight
Summary: Aziraphale is 40, single, and working hard at his job as a book editor. His life gets shifted around, however, when a mysterious Anthony Crowley walks back into his life after a brief acquaintance when they were children. Stressed under a manipulative boss and struggling with his blossoming feelings for this Mr Crowley, Aziraphale decides to start a diary.Bridget Jones's Diary AU where Aziraphale = Bridget and Crowley = Mark Darcy. This is a silly, fluffy AU (with just a little angst).
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 55





	1. Turkey Curry

Aziraphale had never been a fan of these parties.

Sure, he celebrated Christmas, as mournful an occasion it was when he lived on his own in a tiny flat. He sent gifts to his friends and helped himself to a decent portion or two of Christmas pudding, he lit candles and spent evenings in his armchair with a good book and hymns playing through his rather ancient stereo.

His issue didn’t lie with the holiday, but more the spectacle these parties called for. He always ended up with Gabriel’s hand on the small of his back, being paraded from group of people to group of people until Gabriel found someone more interesting to talk to and Aziraphale was left to hide in a corner and fill himself up with food – if, that is, it was provided.

The worst of these parties sometimes had no snacks at all, and quite frankly, Aziraphale would never understand why. Who could stand occasions like these without the occasional bite of pastry or sweet sponge?

This year, thankfully, Gabriel didn’t skimp on the treats. He’d in fact chosen to cook a rather lovely turkey curry, which Aziraphale had been eyeing since he’d first arrived. It helped him take his mind off of his outfit.

Gabriel was nothing if not a showman, and he had a rather unfortunate infatuation with The Sound of Music. The worst part of this year’s party was undoubtedly the musical-themed dress code, and Aziraphale had been very strictly instructed to don a nun’s outfit.  
He didn’t mind wearing women’s clothing, not at all, in fact he found it rather freeing. He rather missed his tartan, however, and his waistcoat and jacket were a comfort he sorely needed in an uncomfortable situation like a party.

He couldn’t take from the curry without everyone else being allowed to first, and so Aziraphale decided to pass his time by mingling. He listened out for where Gabriel’s booming voice could be heard, and fled to the exact opposite side of the house.

It wasn’t long before a hand wrapped around his wrist and he was hauled into a living room by his friend, Pepper. She was an odd sort, someone he didn’t see often if he could help it, but someone he knew he could trust if he ever needed a desperate helping hand. He’d known her since birth, as their parents had been close friends, and when Aziraphale had chosen to distance himself from his own parents after an unfortunate reaction to his coming out, Pepper had estranged herself along with him in support.

She pulled him to the other side of the living room with a smile which didn’t feel entirely genuine. It didn’t worry Aziraphale; that was her default expression.

“Aziraphale!” she hissed as she finally released his arm. “You will not believe who I’ve found.”

“Who?” Aziraphale blinked. He looked around, struggling to see anyone he recognised. He couldn’t even see Pepper’s husband, Brian, which he considered odd since the pair were usually glued together at the hip. “Good heavens, Pepper, what on earth are you dressed as?”

She appeared to be wearing a witch’s coat, with green smeared all over her face and her haired tied back in a bun.

“Elphaba! Not important. Look, look over there.”

Still blinking at the confusion over Pepper’s outfit, Aziraphale frowned and looked over at where she pointed. A flash of red caught his eye, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to see if he recognised that mop of hair. He shuffled closer and saw the man underneath it.

Sunglasses covered his face, round with silver rims. His hair was a rather beautiful russet, hanging down to frame his face, with most of it tied back in a messy bun. He was slender, all sharp angles and harsh contrast, with clear-cut cheekbones.

His outfit seemed just as horrifying as everyone else’s, some punk rock number which looked like something out of some twisted anti-teen propaganda. He looked dangerous, pathetically so in a way that screamed _Fear me. Please, I am desperate._ It was almost endearing, or would have been if the clothes weren’t simply ridiculous.

A lock of hair hung down, separated from the rest of the lovely red curls. Aziraphale’s fingers itched to brush it back behind the man’s ear, and he shook himself as he reminded himself that it would be incredibly inappropriate.

“Who is that?” he glanced at Pepper, before gluing his eyes back onto the mysterious man on the other side of the room. He took a sip of his drink before grinning and getting back into the swing of conversation.

“Anthony J Crowley!” Pepper smacked him in the arm, as if that would help spark Aziraphale’s mind. He rubbed his arm and frowned. The name was slightly familiar, but he couldn’t place the man for the life of him.

“Uhm, who…?”

“Oh, you…” Pepper rolled her eyes and tugged on Aziraphale’s sleeve. “Anthony! AJ! The boy on our street who we’d go over and play with sometimes as children! You once streaked on his garden, it was rather funny. I think we were around seven?”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale practically whimpered. _This is exactly what I needed. Someone who knows me because I ran naked around in his garden once as a young boy. Lucky me._

“Well?” Pepper grinned. “Go talk to him! You two got along well, you know.”

Aziraphale practically had no chance to decline, as Pepper shoved him towards the russet-haired man. His cheeks burned almost the colour of Crowley’s hair as he approached the group. He saw Brian there, along with some other familiar faces, and a tiny black-haired person with eyes like ice. They locked onto Aziraphale the second he approached them and scowled. 

Crowley dragged his gaze over to the newcomer, his eyes invisible behind his sunglasses, and a tiny smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi.” He cocked his head, some of that lovely hair falling across his face, and Aziraphale stammered for a moment while he tried to get his bearing. This Crowley fellow really was rather lovely to look at up close… ridiculous outfit or not.

“Um, hi! Hello! Um.” All words left him.

“Crowley, this is my good friend Aziraphale,” Brian stepped in, much to Aziraphale’s relief. The man hooked an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and shook him lightly.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley cocked his head a little further. “I recognise that name.”

“Yes! Um, yes. We’ve met.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Pepper and I were on your street when we were young.”

Recognition seemed to click in Crowley’s expression, even without his eyes being visible, and the man grinned.

“Oh, yes, I remember. So nice to see you again.”

The acknowledgement was cold and impersonal, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite explain why it stung him so. Crowley likely didn’t remember him at all, just like Aziraphale couldn’t remember him. Perhaps the both of them had blocked out the memory out of sheer embarrassment.

An agonising silence fell across the group, and Aziraphale’s tongue ran away with him. He cursed it, but it rather refused to listen to him.

“I streaked across your garden, once,” he said, and immediately wished he could swallow the words back up. His cheeks burned darker, and he wished very much he could shrink himself into a tiny ball and roll away, never to be found again.

Amusement tugged Crowley’s mouth into a smirk. Oh, and what a lovely smirk it is. He mentally slapped himself. Stop it, Aziraphale, you baseless wretch, he scolded himself. You barely know the man.

“Ah, right. I do remember that, now that you mention it.”

_Wonderful._

Aziraphale was contemplating changing his name and fleeing the country as the silence continued. It was the tiny dark-haired person by Crowley’s side who broke the silence this time.

“A streaking nun. Interesting.”

“Guh, uh, I didn’t choose it! This outfit, I mean. Um, Gabriel did. Over there.” Aziraphale gestured at the other room, where Gabriel’s siren ring of a laugh could still be heard echoing through the house.

“Lucky you,” the stranger raised an eyebrow. “Sister Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale shuffled again, looking back at Pepper, who gave an enthusiastic thumbs up at him from across the room. He shot her a desperate look which he hoped ensued just how much he felt like disappearing out of existence, when Crowley cleared his throat.

“So, uh. Gabriel. How’d you know him.”

“Ah!” Aziraphale was better at this. Better with clear questions he could answer. He wasn’t usually quite so tongue-tied. He supposed that russet wave had done something to scramble him, render him nearly voiceless. “I work for him. I’m an editor. I’m fairly low down in the company, I usually get the throwaways, but… yes. He’s my boss.”

“And he dictates what you wear?” the dark-haired stranger frowned. Aziraphale shrugged.

“He dictates a lot of things. I don’t get much say. Like I said, I’m low down in the company.”

The group shot him rather concerned looks, but he brushed them off.

“It’s fine! Really, everything’s fine. Crowley, how do you know Gabriel?”

“University,” Crowley turned his nose up before looking away entirely. His voice soured, his mouth curving down into something truly unpleasant. “An… acquaintance from university. I’m only here for Bee, they wanted to see the place.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale frowned, deciding it was his turn to feel concerned. He wanted that smirk back, he wanted to see Crowley smile. Wanted to hear him laugh. He looked down at the dark-haired stranger and offered a fragile smile. “So, you’re Bee?”

“The one and only,” Bee almost growled. They folded their arms. They were tiny, easily an entire head and a half shorter than him, but Aziraphale found them rather terrifying. _Not someone to get on the wrong side of, I suppose._

Nerves plagued Aziraphale once more, and that blasted tongue of his ran away with him.

“What’s with the sunglasses?” he blurted out. “You don’t need them indoors, why not take them off?”

Crowley stiffened. _Fuck._

“If it were anyone’s business but my own,” he forced out. “I might be inclined to answer.” Aziraphale felt sweat beading at the back of his neck and he stammered out an apology. Crowley didn’t respond, and Bee looked just about ready to incinerate Aziraphale where he stood. Desperately, he grasped at straws to deflect the attention away from himself.

“And, um… how do you know each other?” he tried.

“Work,” Bee coldly answered for Crowley, who was staring at the floor, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked like he wanted to escape, and Aziraphale’s chest ached with the fear that he might have caused it. _Might have? Don’t be silly. You absolutely caused it, you old bag._

“Ah,” he feebly smiled, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He wanted to ask more, find out more, get to know the both of them, but he felt like he’d very much overstayed his welcome – Crowley’s stance seemed to scream discomfort. “Well, um. Goodbye,”

“Goodbye,” a broken chorus echoed back at him, and Aziraphale fled.

Luckily for Aziraphale, it wasn’t long before Gabriel got up on a stool and rather loudly announced that it was time to dig into the curry. Aziraphale shuffled into the queue and piled his plate high. The comforting smell wafted up to his nose and he allowed himself a small smile, before a familiar voice made that smile falter.

“Admit it!” Bee snapped. “You liked him. You’re never that welcoming to people you’re not interested in. Don’t you remember-”

“Don’t say it!” Crowley hissed back at them. “Please don’t. By the love of god, I’m not interested. Why should I be interested in a man who has no control over his tongue and no respect for anyone else’s boundaries?”

Ouch.

Aziraphale’s blood turned to ice and cracked. He looked up to see the pair of them a few spaces behind him in the line, just collecting their plates. They turned and spotted him, and Crowley froze, his mouth hanging open. Aziraphale just flashed a weak smile.

“Mm,” he grinned, trying very hard not to let his eyes brim with tears. “Turkey curry. Lovely.”

_How humiliating._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Good Omens. I love Bridget Jones. I'm on holiday now and my personal writing project is going in a different direction, leaving me more time to write.  
> Result?  
> Bridget Jones/Good Omens story. Why not?
> 
> In all seriousness I'm really looking forward to writing this. I hope you like it!  
> Sharing this, comments, and kudos are all massively appreciated.


	2. A Disaster of a Presentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is tasked to give a presentation at a publishing celebration. Unfortunately, he hates giving speeches.
> 
> CW: excessive (but safe) alcohol usage, a manipulative/abusive (platonic) relationship.
> 
> Tags updated.

**Two weeks later**

Returning to work after the New Year was always a tiresome thing. Returning to work and then immediately being swept up into a presentation at a publishing event was even worse.

Aziraphale didn’t do speeches. He was awful at speeches. He was eloquent and he knew how to use his words, but getting up on a stage and speaking to a room about some pretentious old fart’s newest drivel? It was his worst nightmare.

Well, maybe his worst after seeing someone mishandle a classic. Back in his university years, he once saw someone with five books, all ancient and in beautiful condition, opened flat until their spines would surely be damaged.

He hid in the corner of the room, looking at the rich fancy folk mill about the room. It was extravagantly decorated and practically stank of class – something Aziraphale didn’t really associate with, much. He had enough money to sustain himself and he enjoyed a bit of luxury in his life, but he saw value in keeping that sort of thing to yourself.

He had a glass of wine clutched tightly in one hand, and his note cards in the other. He spotted the publisher in question his speech was about on the other side of the room, some uptight old man who looked like he’d wipe the sweat from his brow with a hundred-pound note.

Aziraphale knew that he couldn’t let his distaste for events like this show. If he did well, he had the chance to climb through the ranks of the company (and possibly earn some modicum of respect from Gabriel, even if that sounded impossible).

If he did poorly… well, Aziraphale did his best to avoid seeing Gabriel’s wrath whenever he could.

_This is Hell. I can’t cope with this._

He took a sip of his wine, and then another, and another, until his glass was empty. He swapped it out with a new glass as the time for his speech quickly rushed up to meet up, and drained that one too. A third one was half gone by the time he stumbled onto the stage and up towards the microphone.

He fumbled with it, clearing his throat to test it… and it didn’t work. His voice didn’t amplify through the speakers hanging from the ceiling. He tapped the microphone, cleared his throat again, and mumbled a slurred “Testing” before he gave up on it altogether.

He’d never been particularly technology-savvy, and with a bit of alcohol in him, anything technological seemed entirely out of his comprehension. _Give me a good pen and paper any day, but god forbid I have to use one of those horrid smart phones Anathema and Pepper are always trying to get me to use. Too many buttons, hard on the fingertips, those. My goodness, Anathema is rather an unfortunate name, isn’t it? Even with the definition aside, it’s so long… oh, what a hypocrite I am to judge her name for its length._

He let out a little giggle before he batted the microphone aside.

“Pardon me?” he called, his voice still fairly timid, and the party milled on with no notice of him. He cleared his throat and called out, much louder. “Good lord!”

The partygoers paused before slowly turning to look at him. Their eyes were knives and Aziraphale felt every blade as it punctured his skin. _Oh. Oh dear._

“Well. Um.” He looked around and saw Gabriel standing just to the side of the stage, with his eyes possibly the sharpest blades in the room. He had a smile plastered on his face, but it was dangerous and cold, the furthest thing from trustworthy. Aziraphale’s gut fell to the floor, through the floor, down, down, down, until his head began to spin. He cleared his throat again and continued speaking.

“Well. Hello to you all, and thank you all so much for coming.” He couldn’t keep the slurred edge out of his voice. He tried to ignore Gabriel’s stare drilling a hole through his skull. “Thanks to you, and you… and you. And you. Yes.”

He shook his head a bit and grasped for the microphone, before remembering it wasn’t working.

“We’re here to celebrate the publishing of a… a truly excellent book, edited by my good associate here, Gabriel. Oh, yes, and written by our good sir, Charles Frank… Charles Franklin.” He nearly choked on the name, having to fight himself to get the words out.

“It’s… truly one of the best books of this generation. Maybe in the world!” The gazes turned colder, and Aziraphale stammered as he realised how many people in his audience were authors themselves.

“Um. Except for yours, good sirs. Yours are all… very good. Too.” His head span, his vision swirled, and he really desperately needed to get off this stage. He put his note cards back into his pocket and lifted his hands into the air.

“To Mister Franklin!” A bubble of polite applause rippled through the audience, and Aziraphale fled from the stage as Gabriel walked up to save the day. Aziraphale’s cheeks burned as the man flipped a switch on the microphone, and said into it – his voice now suddenly amplified through the speakers:

“Just turning this on.” The laughter which swept through the audience felt like a swarm of wasps to Aziraphale.

Gabriel’s words would surely be smooth and charismatic. Aziraphale had no interest in listening to them. He wanted to disappear as quickly as possible.

He fled to the back of the party and slipped into the restroom, where he washed his face twice.

“Good lord?” he criticised himself in the mirror. “Good lord? Come on, old boy. You can do better than that.”

“On the contrary,” a gentle voice emerged from the doorway, and Aziraphale flinched before looking over. To his horror, one Anthony Crowley stood there, dressed head to toe in black, with his jacket off and slung over his shoulder. “I thought it was rather charming.”

He was wearing a waistcoat which hugged his figure and a blouse with baggy sleeves. Those sleeves were tantalising in how much they hid, a stark contrast to the slim hug of the waistcoat. A silver, thin scarf hung around the man’s neck, and… _is that a belt with a snake head for a buckle? Good lord, indeed._

Those sunglasses still blocked Crowley’s eyes from sight. _Such a shame._

Aziraphale wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before he cleared his throat.

“I… I didn’t know you’d be here. Mr Crowley.”

“Just Crowley is fine,” Crowley pushed himself away from the door and sauntered over. Those hips moved like a pendulum. How did the man not dislocate his legs with every step?

Only then did Crowley’s words really sink in. _Wait. Charming?_ Aziraphale frowned. Was Crowley mocking him? Surely he knew he really wasn’t in need of any extra humiliation.

“I wouldn’t worry, Aziraphale,” Crowley smiled, much closer now, but still he stopped at a respectable distance. “You were fine.”

“Fine,” Aziraphale scoffed. “I embarrassed myself. I was drunk. I’m still drunk,” he blushed and looked away. The slur hadn’t quite left his voice, even if the cold water had helped sober him up some.

“So’s half the party. They’re just a bit better at hiding it. No shame in it.”

“There’s plenty of shame,” Aziraphale snapped, his cheeks colouring. Crowley cocked his head.

“Says who? Gabriel?” His voice was sharper now, assertive, and it sent a pleasant jolt down Aziraphale’s spine. He mutely pursed his lips together and looked down at the floor. Crowley shuffled marginally closer, leaning on his shoulder against the wall.

“Gabriel would find shame in anything. He’d scold you for eating something he doesn’t personally like.”

He had. More than once. Aziraphale’s blush burned darker.

“There you go,” Crowley’s voice was sweet, gentle enough to cradle a baby. “You see? Keep your chin up. Whatever Gabriel tells you tonight, you just think of me and you brush it off. Can you do that?”

Aziraphale scowled up at Crowley.

“I’m not a child, Crowley. I can handle Gabriel.”

“I’m sure,” Crowley nodded. “I just don’t want you to get too down on yourself over this. Alright?”

“Alright,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Thank you.”

Crowley offered him a smile, then, a genuine one, and Aziraphale’s insides melted like butter. The man pushed himself off the wall and slipped out of the bathroom, and somehow, Aziraphale found himself feeling better than he’d felt all night.

Of course, Gabriel was furious with him. He practically dragged him from the party, put him in a car and drove him to a nearby restaurant.

He always did this when he was angry. He’d take Aziraphale places, pay far too much money for something Aziraphale couldn’t even enjoy, and use that guilt to make Aziraphale feel adequately punished. It hurt, but Aziraphale could recognise the pattern after so long, and Crowley’s words in the bathroom helped him keep it together.

He chewed silently on a bite of steak, unable to taste it with Gabriel glowering at him from across the table.

“I don’t know how you can even look at yourself,” Gabriel spat. “I mean, really. Getting drunk at a publishing party? On the night you’re giving a speech? You’ve completely and utterly humiliated me. What am I supposed to tell my superiors now? You’ve made a mess of this celebration. You’re a detriment to the company.”

“Am I fired?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, rather proud at the coldness in his voice. Gabriel looked taken aback.

“Fired? Of course not.” He hesitated, before he continued. “You most certainly should be. But I’m giving you an extra chance. This isn’t the first time, either, you know. You could have been thrown out on that extra cushioning of yours a long time ago. You’re nothing without me and my company, and I’m not quite willing to see you crash and burn yet. You understand?”

“Yes, Gabriel,” Aziraphale lowered his eyes back to his plate. He pushed his green beans around his plate with his fork.

“Right. Good. Look at this. Look at all I’ve done for you.” Gabriel shook his head. “I took you in, made you something when you were nothing, had nothing. I buy you nice things, I spoil you, I make sure you’ve always got work and your edits always get published. I do all this for you, and how do you repay me?”

“Sorry, Gabriel,” Aziraphale sighed. “May I go home now?”

Gabriel bared his teeth.

“You haven’t finished your meal. You waste my money, now, too?”

“I must admit I don’t have much appetite,” Aziraphale stood. “Thank you for your generosity, but I really must be going home. It’s late.”

“Right,” Gabriel snarled. He called for the cheque, and Aziraphale was home within the hour.

Stepping in to his tiny flat and collapsing on to the bed felt like the best thing he’d done in years. He hugged his pillow and trembled, fighting humiliation and the itching chill of fear creeping up his spine.

He knew Gabriel was bluffing. If Aziraphale really was such a detriment, he would have been fired a long time ago. He was a humble man, but he knew he was good at his job. He was given the bottom of the barrel, the worst books of the lot to edit, and somehow, they always ended up well-received.

He rather loved it. He could take a terribly written book and turn it into something beautiful. He was good, and Gabriel needed him.

 _So… why do I let him do this to me?_ Aziraphale couldn’t answer that. It hadn’t always been like this. For the first few years in Gabriel’s company, things had been good, great, even. He climbed up the ranks from a mere coffee-maker to someone allowed to edit entire books, but then… the climbing stopped.

As soon as he was given the right to edit, things had changed. Gabriel felt like a shackle around Aziraphale’s ankle, chaining him where he was while his co-workers progressed.

So many years into a friendship, it was hard to turn around and say no to mistreatment when it started. Gabriel was nothing if not good at what he did, and as Aziraphale knew all too well by now, what he did was manipulate. Aziraphale wasn’t naïve. He knew exactly what was going on.

Every time this happened, he felt his chest ache, tighten as if in a clenched fist. Breathing was difficult. His heart stung with every beat.

He sighed and nuzzled his pillow. This wouldn’t do.

Sitting up, Aziraphale smiled at the thought of Anthony Crowley meeting him in the bathroom. He’d been such a gentleman.

“It was nice even to talk, a little,” he admitted to nobody in particular. He stewed over that thought for a moment, before an idea sparked to life in his head. He smiled and pushed himself to his feet, rushing through to his living room and fumbling through his bookshelves until he found what he was looking for – an empty lined notebook.

“Here we are,” he grinned, lifting the book to his chest. “I’ll start a diary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was posting this tomorrow I TOLD MYSELF I COULD HOLD OFF  
> i'm weak
> 
> This chapter is probably one of the darkest/angstiest, if not the most dark/angsty out of them all. I had to get it out of the way, though! Don't worry, Aziraphale's a smart man. He'll get out of this.


	3. The Book Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel drags Aziraphale along on a book tour with the promise of a promotion.

Things settled somewhat after the presentation. Gabriel’s anger was like a storm cloud in many regards, including how quickly it passed after he’d finished dolling out his punishment. Aziraphale knew by now exactly what to expect, and when.

He’d get scalding glares every time he passed Gabriel’s glass-walled office for a week, with total silent treatment from him unless he absolutely had to talk to him. He had to admit, silence from Gabriel was much more a blessing than a curse. His workload, unfortunately, would likely be thinned until Gabriel deemed it time to talk to Aziraphale again.

In the second week, Gabriel would still be glaring, but he returned Aziraphale to his regular schedule and started talking to him again. By the third week, things were practically back to normal.

Right on schedule, this third week was no different. Gabriel gave Aziraphale a friendly clap on the back as he passed by and his booming laugh echoed through the office once again.

Aziraphale kept his head down and his nose buried in a book, highlighting spelling errors and blatant flaws in the latest manuscript he’d been idly tossed.

It was in the fourth week that Gabriel approached his desk once again and leaned onto his knuckles, staring Aziraphale down. Aziraphale looked up at him, unabashed, simply waiting for what he inevitably wanted to say. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew it wasn’t going to be the usual “Hurry up with that manuscript” with the way Gabriel smiled.

The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel grinned, baring his teeth. His eyes remained emotionless still, and Aziraphale plastered on his own fake smile, determined not to give in to his boss’s intimidation tactics. He knew them too well to fall for them.

_No matter what he wants, I will not give in. I am a hard-working, professional book editor, and I will not be pushed around._

“I need a bit of a favour.”

_Here it comes._

“Are you aware of the Annual Southern English Book Tour?”

 _…Huh?_ That was a new one. Aziraphale was usually kept far away from events – the publishing disaster was exactly the reason why. He couldn’t be trusted to touch them with a ten-foot pole, and that worked out for him given he hated going to the things anyway.

“I… can’t say I am,” Aziraphale frowned. Gabriel’s predatory smile widened.

“Well. I have quite the opportunity for you, should you choose to accept it.”

“Should I-” Aziraphale snorted. “You’re sounding more and more like a secret agent by the day.”

“Regardless,” Gabriel’s voice had an edge now, something so sharp Aziraphale could sense was dangerous. “I’ll be going on this book tour. I need you with me.”

“You do?” Aziraphale blinked. “Whatever for?”

“I’ll be busy from morning until night while I’m there, and I still have work to do. You’ll… well, you’ll sort of be my assistant. It isn’t much you’ll be doing, just booking the odd appointment here, denying the odd manuscript submission there. You know?”

“Right…” Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “Don’t you… have an assistant?”

“Uriel? Please! As if I’d let her come on a trip like this.” Gabriel waved away the suggestion.

“And… somehow I’d be better?”

An awkward silence fell as Gabriel’s expression soured.

“You don’t sound particularly grateful. This is a big opportunity for you, you know. Lots of connections, some great experience… if you do well, I might even promote you.”

What?! Aziraphale swallowed and felt his eyes widen of their own accord. Gabriel noted it immediately and that smile returned.

“Oh, yes. Promotion. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His voice felt slimy, but Aziraphale could brush it off at the prospect of a promotion.

“I… would,” he looked down at his desk, and his wringing hands resting there.

“Great!” Gabriel clapped. “We leave on Monday.” He stood up and breezed away with a satisfied smirk, and Aziraphale was left completely baffled.

_Well. That was a thing._

-

It was a long train ride to the South Downs, where the tour was centred. Aziraphale and Gabriel shared a train cabin, and Aziraphale spent most of the journey stuck into a book. He lost himself in page after page of poetry, drinking it up. Words were his favourite means of escape.

The silence was very peaceful, until Gabriel suddenly scoffed and cursed under his breath.

“The git. What nerve.”

Aziraphale looked up in bewilderment, not understanding, before he looked out into the train aisle, where he saw none other than Anthony Crowley himself. He wasn’t alone this time, as Bee trailed after him with that same scowl on their face that they’d worn at the Christmas party.

He donned that same waistcoat and jacket, with the same silver scarf hanging loosely around his neck. He waved nonchalantly at Gabriel and offered Aziraphale a tiny, but seemingly genuine smile, before he edged himself into another carriage with Bee and sat down.

Gabriel huffed and fidgeted, clearly bothered, and Aziraphale frowned up at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel growled. “What’s wrong? That’s Anthony Crowley!”

“I’m… aware of that?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You knew each other from university, didn’t you? What happened?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know what that snake is capable of,” Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. If it were possible, Aziraphale rather thought he’d have smoke pouring out of his ears.

“I think I do,” Aziraphale mumbled. “If you’re willing to tell me.”

Gabriel sighed, and sat up.

“We were on the same course. English, both of us. We were good friends, actually.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened at that, but Gabriel waved him quiet and continued. “We worked together on most projects, sat together in lectures, shared notes, the lot. We were pretty tight knit.”

Aziraphale pondered that, glancing back at the carriage he knew Crowley was sitting in. Gabriel kept talking.

“We met in first year, stayed friends until final year. Things… changed, then. He changed. He started snapping at me, talking back to the lecturers. He acted like he knew everything, it was very unpleasant. I stood by him, though. We’d been friends for years, after all, he may have just been having a rough time. But…”

Gabriel sighed, seeming genuinely upset. Aziraphale frowned. Should he reach out and rest his hand on his boss’s arm? That seemed inappropriate, but he’d never seen the man so down-trodden. He chose against it, instead just waiting for Gabriel to continue speaking.

“I… walked in on him, one night. He was in bed with a woman. I wouldn’t be bothered, but then she sat up, and…” he shuddered. “It was my girlfriend. Nearly fiancé. He seduced her, used her to get to my notes. He stole them, credited himself and practically stole my final assignment from me. I had to crawl on hands and knees even to graduate after what he did.”

Aziraphale was gobsmacked. Crowley did that? The same kind, soft Crowley who supported him in the bathroom after his humiliating mistake at the presentation?

“My lord…”

“Yeah,” Gabriel nodded. “So. You see why I don’t like him much.”

“I don’t blame you,” Aziraphale breathed. Gabriel offered him a small smile, one which seemed genuine, and they lapsed into silence once more for the rest of the journey.

-

The tour was… extremely boring, Aziraphale discovered. Gabriel woke early, left a pile of paperwork for Aziraphale to complete during the day, and disappeared until very late at night. They were in separate rooms, but Gabriel would slide his key under Aziraphale’s door to let him in and do his work.

It didn’t take him long to get through his work every day. Sometimes he’d do it in parts, and have breaks with a nice scone or piece of cake while reading in the hotel lobby.

The tour may be boring, but the hotel was certainly rather beautiful. Lavish pillars ringed with patterns spiralled up to the ceiling, staircases flanked the lobby leading up to the rooms on the second floor, and the gardens were broad and sunny, dotted with trees.

A lake sat in the centre of the grounds, glittering in the morning light. Couples would often take rowboats out onto the water. Aziraphale could hear their laughter. He rather fancied going out there himself, but he figured it would probably look suspicious – some middle-aged man choosing to go on a romantic boat trip… by himself? It simply wouldn’t be proper.

No, he would have to simply manage by himself. Being by himself wasn’t all bad. Occasionally Crowley and Bee would pass him by while he was sitting with an empty plate and a book. Crowley would smile and nod, and sometimes Aziraphale would be mysteriously delivered a new piece of cake after the pair of them had left.

He didn’t know Crowley was the one buying them, not for certain, but he was definitely suspicious. He couldn’t quite forget Gabriel’s story whenever he looked into the lenses of those dark sunglasses. Crowley had broken up Gabriel’s relationship, he had almost ruined Gabriel’s chances of graduating with his degree! And yet…

Aziraphale shook himself and stood up.

“Time to get back to work, old boy.”

It was a long, painful two weeks. Aziraphale finished four books by the time the last night rolled around. Gabriel had returned early and retired to his room, and Aziraphale spent the evening in the lobby, as per usual, finishing off the last couple of pieces of paperwork.

He had a final lemon and poppy seed muffin before heading back upstairs, his belly full and his heart warm at the prospect of returning home in the morning. He reached for the doorknob, when he heard Gabriel’s thunderous laugh inside.

Aziraphale liked to think he was a polite man. The very idea of eavesdropping repulsed him, and yet… something deep down told him that he’d need to hear this. Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, he pressed himself against the door and listened to Gabriel on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s agreed. I mean, he hasn’t exactly said yes, per se, but he wants a promotion. I can dangle it above his head a little longer. Don’t worry, you’ll get your book done.” Gabriel laughed again. “What, you think I don’t know how to handle my employees? I’ve been stringing him along for years now. I’ll dump it on his desk, treat it like some big honour. He’ll be none the wiser. Sound good?”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. Nausea seized control of him and he began to tremble. For all these years, Gabriel had simply been using him? He’d known that he was good. It was no secret he was one of the best in the company. But dangling a promotion above his head after years, simply to snatch it away?

Gabriel never intended to let Aziraphale climb. He wanted him pinned, doing all the dirty work Gabriel wanted done. Aziraphale was done with it.

He pushed open the door, letting his rage show for once. Gabriel jumped a mile, looking rightfully guilty, and Aziraphale dumped his finished paperwork on the ground.

“Take your paperwork,” he snapped. “And consider that project you’re discussing _someone else’s problem_. I won’t do it.”

He turned on his heel and stormed away, not even giving Gabriel a second to respond. He heard him stammer and call his name when he was halfway down the hall, but he didn’t stop to listen. He was well and truly done with him.

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t have a plan. By the time he registered where he was, he was sitting cross-legged by the lake side. He was still shaking. He didn’t know whether he’d stopped at all. He buried his face in his hands and whimpered.

How could he not have seen this coming? He knew something wasn’t right. Of course, he knew. But this… This was a devastating blow.

He lay back in the grass and stared up at the sky. The stars were much more vibrant out here in comparison to the polluted sky in London. He loved London, but he had to admit that the stars were a magnificent sight he sorely missed on many a lonely night.

He groaned and covered his eyes with the heels of his palms. He lay like that for several silent minutes, listening only to the lap of the lake water against the bank by his feet. After a while, he was disturbed by footsteps through grass, and he moved his hands to look up at Anthony Crowley.

The man looked down at him with a blank, confused expression. He looked like he wanted to ask a question, but Aziraphale only shook his head with what he assumed was a fairly desperate, pleading face. Crowley nodded and moved, and Aziraphale watched as the man folded those long, slender limbs and lay down in the grass beside him.

What surprised him more, however, was when Crowley lifted his hand and pulled off those sunglasses. Aziraphale stared at him, open-mouthed, and Crowley chewed on the inside of his cheek. They lay like that wordlessly, until Crowley shifted his gaze over to Aziraphale.

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale’s face flushed and he lay back, looking up at the stars again. Crowley’s eyes bore a hole into his head, before the man looked up at the sky as well. Silence fell, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was familiar and warm, and Aziraphale found himself somewhat comforted. He knew he’d have to explain himself, and he took a deep breath.

“Gabriel’s been stringing me along for years,” he breathed. Crowley looked over at him again, but he kept his own gaze locked firmly on the stars. “I knew something wasn’t right. I knew he wasn’t… the best, but. I didn’t expect it to be this bad. I didn’t… I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

Crowley stayed quiet for a moment, before he reached over and took Aziraphale’s hand into his own. His fingers were cold, long and thin, bony like the rest of him, but they locked into Aziraphale’s like a key and a lock. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered, and he did his best to ignore it.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley murmured. “You don’t deserve that.” That slender thumb slowly drew a circle on Aziraphale’s hand, and he shuddered.

“Thank you,” he closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

Crowley shifted a little closer.

“You can do anything you want. You’re a smart guy, and a hard worker. You don’t need to work for him.” He paused. “I did my degree in English, you know.”

“I’ve heard,” Aziraphale opened his eyes, his chest aching as he remembered Gabriel’s story once again. Crowley was a tender, gentle soul, but he had the potential to be so vicious. Sure, Gabriel might have deserved it just a little, but…

“You have?” Crowley’s frown was evident in his voice. Was he guilty about Gabriel? Was he worried about his secret getting out? “Well… anyway. I did my degree in English. I barely scraped by. I didn’t do well enough to get any decent career starter. So, I started over.”

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, and his throat tightened as he saw those eyes. They were green, flecked with yellow, and the starlight almost made them glow.

“You did?”

“Mm hmm. I started a degree in law, and I met Bee, and now I’m doing much better.” Crowley offered a small smile. “It’s never too late to turn the page. You’ll finish the book one way or another. Might as well enjoy the story, right?”

“Right,” Aziraphale echoed. He truly didn’t know what to think. Crowley grinned, those teeth nearly flashing. He had such a big smile. It split his face in two. Back at the party, even at the publishing event, Crowley had seemed cool, relaxed, content to watch the world go by with strength and perhaps just a little bit of anxiety.

Here, bare to the world without his sunglasses and sharing his vulnerabilities to help Aziraphale feel better… it was painfully conflicting.

They chattered back and forth as the stars slowly passed around them, until Crowley suddenly grinned again and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.”

Aziraphale sat up as well, furrowing his brow.

“An idea?”

“Yeah! Let’s take the boats out!”

 _…Oh._ That… that was a nice idea. Aziraphale looked out over at the lake and licked his lips.

“You think we could?”

“Absolutely! We’re paying to stay here. It’s not like they’re guarded or anything, they’re right there!” Crowley sprang to his feet and cantered over towards a tarp on the side of the lake.

Sure enough, beneath it were the boats and paddles, and before he knew it, Aziraphale found himself laughing with Crowley as they paddled over the night-reflected water. The starlight lit their way as they circled each other, and Crowley recited some truly filthy poetry, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin.

It made a horrific night bearable, and when the sun kissed the horizon, they left the water, and walked away from the lake with grins plastered to their faces, and an unmistakeable kind of uneasy friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D boat scene boat scene boat scene
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Arseholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes the situation with his job into his own hands.

_Dear Diary. I suppose it’s time to get over myself. Weight: You don’t even want to know. Career: Soon to be none. Feelings: More confused than ever._

_Gabriel’s betrayal is unforgivable. He’s a slimy man, some amphibian who spends his days lurking half in some murky pond, the other half wallowing in the muddy bank beside it. He’s a rock embedded in a bog, he’s a stray hair passed in an animal’s dung. He’s hurt me undeniably, and not in a way that leaves me much room to find it sympathetic._

_Most of the time, when bad people do bad things, it’s as a result of them having not much other choice. They’re raised to be that way, or they’re put through circumstances which don’t leave them room to do the right thing. But this?_

_Gabriel has had a life of luxury, of everything he wants, with everything and everyone in his palm. He has no excuse. I’ve been nothing but a friend to him in all the years I’ve worked here. I’ve never said no to an assignment and I’ve always kept my head down and worked hard, although I suppose that may have been my problem._

_Could it have been my fault? Could I be the one who made Gabriel think he could do this? Perhaps it was._

_And as for Anthony J Crowley… how dare the man? How dare he waltz into my life, hips positively delicious, hair that looks softer than a rabbit’s fur? How dare he hide behind those glasses with eyes that lovely, how dare he hide that crooked grin of his behind a cool mask every day of his life. Damn him._

_How dare a man so lovely, so gorgeous to look at and of such smooth words so as to make my insides melt every time I see him, make me feel so conflicted? The man almost ruined Gabriel’s life back in university. He broke up their relationship and stole their project, for goodness sakes! You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but I know he’s hiding himself from me. From the world._

_I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know where to go. I have enough money to sustain myself for a while, enough time to find a new line of work. I’m meeting Anathema and Newt tonight. Perhaps they can console me. Although I must admit, even writing out my thoughts here does help. It helps more than I care to admit._

_Until next time, diary._

_A. Fell_

-

Aziraphale was a strange mixture of terror and anticipation as he pushed into the company building and climbed the stairs. His stomach felt like a cauldron of nerves, a cage of butterflies shaken in the hands of a careless child.

He kept moving, his mouth clamped shut and his bottom lip fixed between his teeth. The slight pain from biting down kept his head in gear. There was no turning back now, not now he had an envelope clutched in his hand.

He stormed into Gabriel’s office. He dumped his resignation slip onto Gabriel’s desk and sniffed as the man looked up at him, questioning and something unrecognisable in his eyes.

Those eyes were predatory, the eyes of a badger waiting to tear you apart.

“I quit,” Aziraphale stared, cold and calm, straight back at Gabriel. Now he was here, all apprehension, all fear, was abolished. This was what he had to do. There was no question about it.

“You what?” Gabriel got to his feet, pushing his chair back carelessly behind him. “You can’t do that!”

“I can,” Aziraphale kept calm, kept his voice low. “And I will. Or would you rather I make it rather clear exactly what you’ve been doing to me for the last several years?”

“That’s blackmail,” Gabriel snarled.

“Maybe,” Aziraphale shrugged. “And what you’re doing is any better? I’m pretty sure manipulation and lying to keep your employees in line is no better.”

Gabriel stuttered, his face turning red with fury. Aziraphale turned to leave, but Gabriel followed him out of his office. Heads turned, and the others in the office stopped what they were doing to watch the commotion.

“You can’t just walk out like that! You, you have to, you-”

“I find I don’t much care what you think I have to do anymore,” Aziraphale turned to face his ex-boss again. “After years of you lying to me to keep me doing your dirty work, I don’t trust you. Your business is a sham. Everything you’ve made me do has been a farce. You need me here, and I don’t want to stay here. You can threaten me all you like, but I have enough on you to keep you far, far away from me.”

A small crowd had gathered by this point, most people with wide eyes and hands reaching up to cover their mouths. Some whispered amongst themselves. Gabriel’s eyes dotted about, taking note of the suspicion floating around the room, increasing as he hesitated to respond.

Eventually, he growled and threw his hands up in the air.

“I won’t stand for this! You work here!”

Aziraphale let a small smile flicker across his face.

“Actually, Gabriel,” he took a single step closer. “You _will_ stand for it. I won’t give you the choice not to. I do not work here anymore. Quite frankly, I’d rather have a job wiping the devil’s arsehole.”

A low ripple of shock erupted throughout the crowd, and Aziraphale turned tail, proudly striding out of the building. He could hear Gabriel stammer, lost for words, and then a shout as he told Aziraphale’s now ex-co-workers to “Get back to work unless you want your pay cheques held back for a year!”

He’d done it.

He managed to keep his cool on the walk home. It was quite a long walk and he could have taken the bus or called a taxi, but now he was unemployed, he figured he should probably save his money where he could. Might as well start with a bit of fresh air – clearing his head was probably sorely needed after what he’d just done.

He kept his cool as he walked up the stairs to his flat. He even kept his cool for the next hour as he sat down with a good book, and a celebratory mug of cocoa. It was after that hour, when he finished his book and turned the last page, that he was hit with a wave of _Oh, shit. What have I done?_

Aziraphale was not a man who struggled with panic. He was level-headed, and analytical, and an optimist to the end. He had his faith, and he had his flat, and he had his books, and food on the table, and his friends. That was all a person needed to be happy.

Today, however, he had broken out of a spiral of manipulation which, despite the harm it did, had given him some semblance of stability for years. Gabriel had taken him in almost directly out of university, given him a place in the world and a stable job. He’d taken him under his wing and given him guidance and experience, and now, all of that was gone.

Aziraphale had no job. No stability. He had a deadline before he could get back to work, and he had no idea where to even _start._

“You can bet that badger-eyed beast will ensure I won’t find another editing, writing, or publishing job in London,” he hissed to himself, biting down on his knuckle. “Oh, I’ve been so, so stupid.”

He let himself panic for a good twenty minutes, before he put his foot down.

“No,” he gritted his teeth. “You will not panic, old boy. You will stay calm, discuss things with Anathema and Newt, and see what they say. They’re smart, confident adults. They’ll know what to do. Everything will be a-okay.”

-

“God, Aziraphale, what did you do?” Anathema rolled her eyes after Aziraphale finished recounting his woes. Aziraphale dropped his head onto the table and groaned.

“That’s not the answer I was hoping for,” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the table.

He wasn’t a big fan of night clubs, aside from the occasional night where he just needed to let loose and dance with a stranger. He much preferred a quiet night in with music and a fine wine, but Anathema was determined to drag him out of his shell every now and then. It was likely very good for him, and Aziraphale would thanked her for it even if he didn’t do it in words, but it definitely made conversations like this slightly more humiliating.

Nothing like recounting your failures in a crowded inner-city club.

Anathema’s hand covered his own, and Aziraphale sat up, using his other hand to rub his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” he sighed, and Anathema rubbed a circle on the back of his hand. A slight shiver jolted up Aziraphale’s spine as he remembered Crowley doing exactly that by the lakeside.

“Why don’t you contact that Crowley fellow?” Newton suggested. “He’s started over, you two even talked about it. I’m sure he’d have some advice for you.”

“I don’t want advice, or to be dragged by the hand into whatever convenient job can use me next,” Aziraphale knew he was pouting, but he didn’t care. He sipped his drink – whisky, not his favourite, but he rather thought it necessary after the week he’d had.

“That’s fair,” Anathema sounded thoughtful. “Although Newt’s right. He might be worth contacting, even just to get a pep talk. He made you feel better about things before, right? He sounds like a good friend.”

“He might not be all he seems,” Aziraphale frowned. “Gabriel… told me some things about him, about things he did when they were back in university.”

“He did?” Anathema frowned. Newt leaned forward, always one to pick up on a bit of gossip. Aziraphale would have thought Anathema would have been the bigger gossiper, but Newt, innocent as he was, simply loved a bit of excitement in life.

“What did he do?” Newt asked, eyes bright, before Anathema elbowed him in the ribs and he let out a wounded yelp. He looked at her like a kicked puppy, rubbing his side.

“Well,” Aziraphale sighed. “The two of them were friends all through university, apparently. You know he started with an English degree, but he’s a lawyer now. A pretty damn successful one, in fact.” He realised he was on the brink of going off on a tangent, and shook himself.

“Anyway. The both of them used to work together on their assignments, but then Crowley went and slept with Gabriel’s fiancé and stole his project notes to pass it all off as his own work. It almost destroyed Gabriel’s career!”

“He what?” Anathema looked horrified, while Newt looked somewhat delighted at such a juicy scrap of drama.

“My god! What a snake.”

“A snake indeed,” Aziraphale sighed. “He’s not said anything about that to me. He’s been all sweet and thoughtful face to face, but after four years of close friendship, he still almost ruined Gabriel’s life. How can I trust a man like that to help me out of this?”

“Okay, yeah,” Anathema still looked baffled. “Yeah, I don’t blame you.” She shook her head, her dark curls falling over her shoulder and framing her face. Newt brushed a lock back behind her ear, and she didn’t pay him any heed.

_What an odd couple,_ Aziraphale thought to himself, taking any opportunity to distract himself that he could.

“Well,” Newt shrugged. “I think we’ve got to agree that the both of them are complete and utter arseholes.” Anathema nodded at that, still staring into space, shocked at the mere prospect of Crowley committing such a vile act of betrayal.

The two looked completely decided, and Aziraphale could only flash a weak smile.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Arseholes.”

Crowley’s history left no question about it. _He must be a nasty person._

Aziraphale chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking back about that crooked smile, and the eyes which glimmered in the starlight as he took Aziraphale out on the boats.

_Although… could he really?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's having a gay struggle and honestly I feel that.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Just The Way You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema and Newt throw a dinner party. Aziraphale just happens to be the only one there without a plus one.

As if things couldn’t get any worse.

Aziraphale hated few things more than publishing events and tacky Christmas parties where he was forced to dress as a nun from The Sound of Music. Dinner parties with friends where he would be sitting in a room full of couples as the only truly single man there was definitely up there.

It had taken significant pleading and bribery on Anathema’s part to get Aziraphale to even agree to come along. He miserably trudged up the pathway to her front door with a glass of wine clutched in his white-knuckled hands.

_I can do this. I’m an independent adult, and if I can deal with quitting my job and looking Gabriel in the face, I can deal with a little dinner party._

Newt was the one to open the door, his puppy-dog face just as friendly as always, and his grin could have lit up a city.

“Aziraphale! You came!” He patted Aziraphale’s shoulder and stepped aside to let him step into the house.

“I wasn’t under the impression that I had a choice,” Aziraphale gingerly stepped inside, and the smell of lavender, sage, and many, many scented candles hit him like a wall. Newt laughed.

“Yeah, well, Anathema’s a bit feisty sometimes. But it’ll be worth it! We love having you here.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale dipped his head, and offered the wine. As if on cue, Anathema appeared, and snatched up the bottle.

“Thank you,” she grinned. “Good that you came. Means I don’t have to drive into London and deck you.”

“See what I mean?” Aziraphale gestured hopelessly, looking at Newt, who only laughed again and looked at Anathema like she was the centre of his universe.

“Come on,” Anathema turned and sprang up the stairs, agile as a cat. “Dinner’s upstairs.”

-

Dinner was Hell on earth. Aziraphale sat on a table full of couples – Anathema and Newt, Pepper and Brian, Anathema’s neighbours Warlock and Adam, and, worst of all… Anthony Crowley and Bee. Bee sat between Aziraphale and Crowley, but it didn’t stop him from sneaking the occasional glance at that russet hair whenever he could.

He was wearing those sunglasses again, even at the dinner table. Aziraphale couldn’t stop the flow of curiosity, but he knew better than to say anything. That had been a lesson hard learned at the Christmas party.

“So, Aziraphale,” Adam piped up after a few minutes of aimless pleasantries. Aziraphale looked guiltily up from his duck. The meal was wonderful and he’d have loved to enjoy it, but it was very difficult when he felt like he had eyes behind him, fixed glares on his back. He popped a roast potato into his mouth and chewed it slowly. Adam kept talking, oblivious to Aziraphale’s discomfort.

“How’s your love life going? Time’s running out, you know, if you want to have any kids.”

“I’m not particularly interested in having my own children,” Aziraphale swallowed his potato and cut himself a piece of duck, using food as an excuse to talk as little as humanly possible.

“Not at all? Not even adoption? Surely you like the idea of finding a nice wife to settle down with?”

“Not right now, no,” Aziraphale mumbled through his mouthful of duck, keeping his face lowered. “If I end up looking for children to adopt, it won’t be on my own. I’d want that with a loved one, perhaps, but it’s not a step I’m willing to take alone. I’d also like to add that I’d much rather a husband that values me for more than my ability to bear children.”

He felt every eye in the room fixed curiously onto him – including, much to his discomfort, Crowley’s, through those sunglasses – and he cleared his throat.

“We’re looking to adopt,” Adam continued, unabashed, smiling over at Warlock. “It might take a while, but our social worker says we’ve got a good chance.”

“Congratulations,” Aziraphale forced a smile, and the well wishes rippled around the rest of the table. He prayed that conversation would move on, but then Bee turned to face him, looking very much like someone on a mission.

“So, you’re single?” their eyes narrowed. Aziraphale coughed on his duck and took a swig of water to wash it down. He hadn’t quite been expecting a question so direct, and it threw him off guard. _Are they judging me? Is Crowley judging me? He doesn’t seem like the type who would, really, but I can’t really be sure of anything anymore, can I? Oh, Anathema, why did you invite me here?_

“Um,” he wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin. “Yes. I am, rather.”

“Why?” Bee quested on. If Gabriel was a badger and Crowley was a snake, Bee reminded Aziraphale of some feral cat, something dangerous and sharp, without any regard for their prey’s feelings.

“I, er,” Aziraphale felt hot and cold all at once. Was he blushing? Was he pale? He felt sweaty even as he shivered in the sudden chill. He looked at Anathema, realising all at once that he needed to get out. “Please excuse me,” he stood. “That was phenomenal, my dear, but I must be getting away. I’ve just remembered I have some business I need to wrap up at my flat, and I-”

“Sure thing,” Anathema nodded. Smart woman, she clearly noticed Aziraphale’s discomfort. He only hoped it was subtle enough that only she could see it. She had a particularly sharp eye for things like that.

“Thank you,” he nodded, his face flooding with gratitude. He collected his things and shuffled out of the door, heading for the door. He paused to shrug on his jacket and collect himself, when he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him.

Expecting Anathema coming down to apologise, perhaps console him, he turned around, but he froze as he saw Crowley descending the stairs towards him.

“Hey,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale blinked – _No, I am absolutely not watching those hips. Those beautiful, tantalising hips…_

“H-hi,” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was expecting Anathema.”

“She was about to come down,” Crowley nodded. “I asked to go instead. I’d like to talk to you.”

“Want to lecture me about the ticking time bomb which is my loins?” Aziraphale let out a pained sigh. He felt so relentlessly tired. “Or perhaps about how I should go put myself out there, find a lover before I end up ancient and alone?”

“Nope,” Crowley popped the “p”, shuffling his weight back and forth. _Is he nervous? Why? What’s happened?_ Aziraphale frowned, biting the side of his tongue as his hands fluttered up. He didn’t know what to do – should he reach out and pat Crowley on the arm? Should he leave him alone?

“What’s the matter, dear boy?” he breathed, his hands falling limply back to his sides as he gave up. Crowley looked up at him, pausing for a moment.

“I wanted to tell you that I like you,” he murmured. “Very much.”

Aziraphale didn’t know how much time passed. He hadn’t been expecting that. He frowned.

“You like me? Sure, aside from my loose tongue, my inability to shut up once in a while, and my apparent total lack of other people’s boundaries,” he folded his arms, feeling like he should run away and hide, protect himself from getting hurt. He hadn’t forgotten what Crowley had said at the Christmas party, after all.

“No, no,” Crowley shook his head and stepped closer. “I like you very much, just as you are.”

_Just as you are. Oh, Lord…_

It took Aziraphale a long moment to remember that he did, in fact, need to breathe. He fumbled, unsure how to respond, hands shaking. He linked his fingers and wrung his hands, blinking fast as he fought to comprehend what Crowley had just admitted to him.

“Just as I am?” he breathed, looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze – when his breath was stolen from him once more. Crowley had removed his sunglasses, and those eyes were kind, vulnerable, frightened, but unapologetic. They were golden rock pools, safety personified, and Aziraphale realised just how much he hated seeing Crowley wear sunglasses not that he knew what lay beneath.

“Crowley, I-”

“Crowley,” a sharp voice called out from the stairs, and the both of them turned to see Bee at the top of the staircase, hands on their hips and fierceness in their eyes. “Come on, we’re making progress here. I think we may have a case on our hands with that Adam fellow.”

Crowley didn’t move for a moment, and Bee snapped their fingers impatiently.

“Come on! Now is not the time.” They stormed back into the dining room, and Crowley turned to look apologetically back at Aziraphale. He looked like he wanted to speak again, when Aziraphale held a hand up.

“No, it’s okay. Go.” He flashed a smile, but before Crowley could speak again, Aziraphale turned and left the house, fleeing into the night.

-

“Just the way you are?” Anathema practically shrieked on the phone later that night, after Aziraphale told her what Crowley had said. “He seriously told you that?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale nodded. “Word for word!”

“My god,” Newt chuckled. “The elusive Anthony Crowley’s a romantic.”

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale blushed, feeling heat creep down his face and neck. “I doubt he meant it in any romantic light.”

“You can’t be serious, Aziraphale!” Anathema scolded. “Is there any other way to take what he said? Don’t let your lack of self-esteem ruin this for you. This is wonderful!”

“Wonderful?” Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two were very quick to judge him before, and now your opinions have completely changed! We can’t forget about what he did to Gabriel.”

“Oh, my god. With all due respect, _fuck Gabriel_. You’ve just had a man who respects you tell you that he likes you just the way you are! Don’t you dare think about that asshole right now or I’ll drive down there and kick yours myself.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale mumbled. “I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to feel.”

“Be happy!” Newt jumped in. “This is good! No matter what he did how-many-years ago that you weren’t there for. Everyone makes mistakes and it was a long time ago. Let the man move on.”

“He broke up a serious relationship and almost ruined someone’s career! This isn’t something that can just be forgotten about!”

“Says who?” Newt sounded surprisingly firm for a man so usually willing to back down in conversation. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened! Do you really trust Gabriel to tell the entire story?”

 _Oh. Oh, that’s a good point._ Aziraphale frowned. After so many years of taking everything Gabriel said as the only real truth to believe, he hadn’t even stopped to imagine that he may have left out some important details in his story. _So Crowley might be able to explain it after all…_

“All right, you may be right,” Aziraphale sighed. “I think I’m going to get some sleep. Try not to get too excited about this, please. I still don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Anathema snickered. “Go to sleep, you old fart.”

Aziraphale put the phone down and rubbed his face in both hands.

“Oh, what am I going to do?” he sighed.

He was right in how quick Anathema and Newton had been to judge and condemn Crowley from the start. How could he fully trust their judgement on him?

Then again… he did have such lovely cheekbones.

_I am so well and truly screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a day late and is a little shorter than the others! I had a rough mental health day yesterday.
> 
> Next chapter is the one I'm most looking forward to!


	6. The Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale decides to throw a dinner party to celebrate his birthday.

_Dear Diary._

_Right. Birthday. Perfect opportunity to show my friends that I’m not a complete mess and I’m more than capable of putting on a show. I am strong! I am independent! I am more than capable of hosting a dinner party for them all._

_Cooking’s a much more intimidating beast to me than baking. But never fear! I’ve got an excellent book of recipes and I’ll manage just well enough. Tonight is a time to impress!_

_Cast out impure thoughts of a certain Mr Crowley’s lovely cheekbones and that shade of red which is so unique to his hair and his hair alone. It looks so soft. I wonder if he likes it braided. Perhaps he’d let me braid it for him one day._

_Blast it. Impertinent fool. You don’t need a man to make you happy. Confound Mr Crowley and Gabriel both. Confound them! I shall despise them until the day I die._

_I must away to get cooking. Wish me luck, diary._

_Aziraphale._

-

Aziraphale was not a vulgar man. He liked to think swears were something unfound in his vocabulary, but as his dinner grew increasingly testing, he found himself growing close to the edge.

“Blast this… unyielding leek!” he hissed, slamming the vegetable down on a chopping board. “That’s it. I’m tying this up.” He found some thick blue twine in his cupboard and wrapped the leek up tight before dropping it into the mess of his slow cooker, and setting his stew to simmer.

“Okay,” he practically panted, wiping his sweat-beaded brow with his sleeve. “Stew’s on. What’s next?”

He darted around the kitchen preparing tiramisu and setting out the ingredients for some homemade sushi, and trying to pretend he wasn’t desperate. He thought he was succeeding.

He was thrown off his stride when the doorbell rang, and he let out an exasperated huff.

“What time do you call this? Good lord.” He stormed towards the door and threw it open, prepared to tell whoever it was to jolly well bugger off, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw a certain russet-haired man standing there.

He had a bouquet of small, dusky pink flowers clutched in his hand – were those roses? They didn’t look quite right. It took a moment for Crowley’s face to pale in worry, and for Aziraphale to remember to actually say something.

“Crowley!” he peeped, internally wincing at the reedy harshness of his surprised voice. Crowley offered a small smile and extended his hand which held the flowers.

“Hi, Angel. May I come in?” He sounded smooth and cool, perfectly composed, but underneath it, under the frayed edges of what was otherwise a perfectly made rug, Aziraphale could sense his nerves. He could almost taste them. He took the flowers and mirrored Crowley’s smile.

“Yes, of course.” It wasn’t until after Crowley had stepped inside that Aziraphale registered what he’d said. _Angel? Did he just…?_

He shrugged it off. It had surely been a slip of the tongue. Surely it can’t have been some semblance of a pet name? He didn’t even know if Crowley was gay, let alone if he was attracted to him.

The flowers suggested some kind of affection, but they may well have just been a courtesy… I can’t get ahead of myself. I barely know the man.

“You cooking?” Crowley looked around the wreck of Aziraphale’s kitchen, the corner of his mouth canted up in a smirk. It was friendly, though, and painfully warm. Aziraphale felt his cheeks flushing, but he nodded.

“Yes. I was throwing a dinner party, or… trying to, at least. I find cooking difficult.”

“Not a kitchen connoisseur, then?” Crowley turned. Even with his sunglasses masking his eyes, Aziraphale could see the affection on his face. It was entirely too much to bear.

“I’m rather good at baking,” he tried, desperate for the charged tension in the room to dissipate. “I learned when I was young. My, um.. my mother taught me.”

“That sounds nice,” Crowley smiled. “You’ll have to show me, sometime. I find I’m the opposite.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Cooking’s easy for me, but baking’s a disaster waiting to happen. There’s no cakes in my kitchen that I haven’t bought.” He shrugged, pulling a lock of hair behind his ear. Aziraphale found himself painfully envious at even the thought of getting to touch it. “Works, though. I’m not much of a sweet tooth.”

“No?” Aziraphale felt light-headed. Was this normal? Surely not. He was practically ravishing the man with his eyes alone.

 _What would his hands feel like? I want them on me. I want them everywhere._ His cheeks burned and he guessed he was turning beetroot. Crowley didn’t seem to notice as he peeked into the slow cooker. _Those hips. I want them. I bet he’s so agile. I wonder if he’d prefer being… attended to, or being the attendee, as it were. Oh, I can’t tell which I’d prefer. I bet he’d make the most delicious noises._

He shook himself, just as Crowley made a little confused grunt.

“It’s… blue?”

“What?” Aziraphale trotted over, and gasped as he saw that indeed, his stew was a pale, dusty blue colour. “How did…?”

It hit him in an instant and he buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, fuck. It must have been the string!”

“String?” Crowley fished the hunk of leek out of the stew and nodded his head in understanding as he saw the now-discoloured twine binding it together. “I see.”

“Fuck,” Aziraphale grunted.

“Somehow I didn’t peg you as a curser,” Crowley looked over at him with a grin.

“I’m not,” Aziraphale grumbled. “But this was an awful idea.”

“It might have been,” Crowley chuckled. “But I think we can salvage this, don’t you?”

 _You could salvage me, if you like._ He felt like slapping himself. 

“If you don’t mind helping,” he stammered, and the two of them got down to business saving their dinner.

-

It was dark by the time the doorbell rang again, and Crowley opened the door to a gaggle of tipsy friends – Anathema, Newt, Pepper, and Brian – who all immediately rushed into the kitchen to swarm Aziraphale. Pepper paused for a moment at the door to give Crowley a particularly long, investigative look before she joined the rest of them around Aziraphale.

Before they knew it, they were seated around Aziraphale’s dining table, gingerly picking at their pastel blue stew and ruined shreds of what might have once been sushi. _At least the tiramisu went well_ , Aziraphale reminded himself, mortified at serving something this horrendous.

His guests were gracious about it, of course, giggling about the absolutely atrocious food in front of them and eating as much as they could stomach.

“So, Aziraphale,” Anathema forced down another mouthful of the foul gunge and gestured to the flowers Crowley had brought, now sitting proudly in a vase in the centre of the table. “What are these? Roses?”

“Ranunculus and alstroemeria,” Crowley spoke up, his voice hoarse, and then he cleared his throat as if trying to dislodge a sizeable lump. He ducked his head back down towards his plate and continued eating, politely struggling. Aziraphale wondered at his shyness – were those flowers significant? He filed them away in his mind to look up later.

(When he did, much later that night when the flat was empty and dark, he was swept off his feet with emotion as he found that ranunculus flowers were used to symbolise charm, attraction, and radiance, while alstroemeria symbolised friendship and devotion. _Oh, Crowley…_ )

“Right,” Anathema narrowed her eyes. “You brought them, then?”

“I might have,” Crowley shifted uncomfortably after a noticeably long silence. He didn’t look Anathema in the eye, looking about ready to bolt from the room and find a nearby rabbit hole to disappear into. Anathema’s gaze darted to Aziraphale’s, her mouth curved up in a grin which was mirrored on Pepper and Newton’s faces. Aziraphale swallowed thickly and raised his champagne glass.

“Erm - a toast!” he tried, and his guests politely reciprocated, their cheers murmuring around the table with no small amount of awkwardness. Aziraphale was many things, but a subtle man in the face of embarrassment was something he could only dream of being.

It was then that four rapid-fire knocks hammered on Aziraphale’s door. Pepper stood and glided over to the door to open it, and she returned ashen-faced.

“I’ll, um… I’ll leave this to you, Aziraphale,” she frowned, and Aziraphale’s face fell as Gabriel walked into the kitchen.

-

He had a bottle of fancy wine clutched in his hand – very fancy wine, if Aziraphale wasn’t mistaken. He was dressed in a suit and looked suitably taken aback at the sight of the dinner party.

“Uh, sorry, I’m clearly interrupting,” he raised his hands in surrender. “I thought you might be alone, Aziraphale.”

 _Of course you did_ , Aziraphale’s thoughts grumbled, and he narrowed his eyes. As he was trying to think of something to say, Crowley gracefully stood. He was composed, collected, but Aziraphale could see the crestfallen hollowness to his movements and the slight sad tug at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll take my leave. Thanks,” Crowley nodded to Aziraphale, resting his hand gently on the back of Aziraphale’s, before he stormed past Gabriel and out of the flat.

“Of course, he was here,” Gabriel’s face pulled into something unpleasant, and a muscle in his jaw flickered. “Why should I expect any different.”

The sour look on his face was wiped clean as Crowley suddenly appeared once more, looking decidedly more dishevelled, and with a wild look in that face even behind the sunglasses.

“Alright, Gabe, outside,” he practically snarled. Gabriel snorted and raised an eyebrow.

“Outside? Really? You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.”

“Seriously, Crowley, what do you take me for? If you want me out there, you’re going to have to drag me.”

That was most certainly the wrong thing to say. Crowley wasn’t afraid of making a scene, and he dragged Gabriel down into the street. The two men descended onto each other like brawling beasts, not quite as feral as rabid dogs but certainly with no small amount of pent-up rage to release onto each other.

They hissed and spat insults at each other as they fought, and Aziraphale watched from the doorway with his other guests crowded around him, each one of them transfixed.

“Who are we rooting for?” Brian asked.

“Crowley, of course!”

“But didn’t he potentially destroy Gabriel’s future marriage and damn near wreck his career?”

“Allegedly!”

“What if it’s true?”

“Fair point.”

Aziraphale took no part in the chatter, watching with eyes wide as dinner plates and a hand clapped over his mouth. Gabriel crowded Crowley into a restaurant across the street and then hauled him over to the window – a large expanse of glass stretching from the ground up to the ceiling. _Oh, fuck._

Gabriel shoved Crowley backwards and the window shattered as the two men fell to the ground amongst pools of splintered glass. They fell silent there, huffing amongst grunts of pain, both of them covered with nicks and scratches. Crowley, sunglasses long gone, had a cut across his temple, and the thin line of blood which dripped from it damn near resembled the lovely snake Aziraphale pictured him to be.

The two men struggled to their feet, still panting, and Gabriel held his hand up.

“Alright, alright,” he groaned. “Enough.”

Crowley nodded and turned to leave, but just as he took a step, Gabriel spat on the ground by Crowley’s feet and spoke once more.

“You wanker.”

Mistake. Crowley turned, his eyes ablaze, and his fist connected with Gabriel’s cheek. Gabriel wheeled around and collapsed to the ground, soundly knocked out.

Aziraphale’s feet moved before he could even think about it. Gabriel lay crumpled, blood dribbling out of his mouth, and Crowley stood looking reasonably guilty.

“What is your problem?” Aziraphale snapped.

“My problem?” Crowley frowned.

“Yes! You put on this façade of being friendly, and sweet, and calm, and… helpful in the kitchen, and romantic with flowers, but… but you’re just as bad as the rest of them!”

The second he’d said it, Aziraphale wished he could take it back. A wounded look flashed across Crowley’s face and his eyes hardened. The man nodded, brushed that lovely hair behind his ear, and stalked away into the night. Just as he was out of sight, Gabriel stirred and let out a pained moan.

Aziraphale looked down at him with little but disgust and pity for him.

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Gabriel mumbled. “Come back to work. It’s not the same without you there. I made a mistake."

“Burn in hell,” Aziraphale snarled, and he turned to go back into his flat.

As he spent the night cleaning up the sad remains of the failed dinner party and drinking himself away into a stupor, he mourned the wasted tiramisu which remained un-eaten in the kitchen, and he sobbed over just how hurt Crowley had looked when Aziraphale had cast him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: "Sorry this is a day late, bad mental health day"  
> Also me: "Ok so maybe it wasn't just one day, have this almost a month later"
> 
> In all seriousness I'm sorry for the wait! I'll get this story done, don't worry! I might just need to pace myself.  
> Thank you for 500 hits!


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